


you're safe within

by somebraveapollo



Category: Demon's Lexicon - Sarah Rees Brennan, Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Crossover, F/M, Rescue, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 23:25:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somebraveapollo/pseuds/somebraveapollo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He drifted in and out of consciousness, and tried to count - once, he taught a demon how to count, using fingers and toes and Pez candy - but it was hopeless, there was no end or beginning he could discern. Just heat, and helplessness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're safe within

**Author's Note:**

  * For [egelantier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/egelantier/gifts).



> For alina, with love.
> 
> Relatedly, for the whipping/flogging square on my hc_bingo card.

In the silence, in the dark, Alan counted his blessings.

He was going to die soon. He felt the arrhythmia in his chest, heard the wheezing, saw the blood he was coughing up. His heart was going to give out, or maybe he'd just die from exhaustion, or from pain. His body, the old traitor, was finally obeying his will: he was going to die without having talked.

It wasn't Nick he was protecting, he learned, and it was a funny thing to realise, in the silence and the dark, after they took away all they could from him. His whole life was about Nick, and he always thought he would die for him. But, in the end, Nick did not need Alan's death. He could protect himself. Alan had raised him right, or too wrong to ever fix, but if they went after Nick, all they would meet was their doom.

It wasn't Cynthia he was protecting, either, though he would, with his last breath. But, Sin, too, could survive Alan's betrayal - she was the fastest swordsman, the most skilled fugitive, the best liar. She would get away, or die a quick and glorious death. He knew she'd prefer him to break and tell them where to find her, because Sin hated being in debt. 

But Mae, and Jamie, and the children - Cynthia's wards - she could not protect them all, not even with Nick's help (and Alan didn't know, couldn't consider, if Nick would help or not). And Alan wasn't going to put them in danger. Neither his life nor his painless death was worth risking them.

So, he kept his mouth shut except for yelling. And that was another blessing, that he could yell all he wanted, with no need to keep himself strong or gentle for Nick's sake.

He couldn't force himself to sleep, didn't try to. When his jailers arrived, he smiled at them, earning a backhanded slap as they dragged him out of his cell. His leg had stopped working four (five?) days ago. He couldn't risk taunting them, but he could slouch and he could grin, and the little rebellions were his only pleasure.

"What's on the menu today?" he imagined asking them. "Kicking or branding? Water or knives?" He closed his eyes when he saw the post they were taking him to, didn't open as they tied him to it. He was tied tightly enough that there was no pressure on his leg. Small mercy, not enough to matter, enough to smile and be slapped again.

The first strike of the whip was strange - a sharp, new experience, and he almost felt excited for having learned how it feels. (Alan was a reader, but he also enjoyed empirical data.) Then the second strike broke his haze and there was just Alan, naked and dirty and the pain he could not escape from. He yelled out, a hoarse little moan which made his jailers chuckle. "Oh, they're going to enjoy the show," he thought, but then they didn't matter, because his back was aflame, feeling like it would break with each new strike.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, and tried to count - once, he taught a demon how to count, using fingers and toes and Pez candy - but it was hopeless, there was no end or beginning he could discern. Just heat, and helplessness.

"Dying would be really good now," he thought, or maybe he even said it out loud, which was no good - he needed to yell, needed to yell or shut up. The whip cracked, like a gun, and oh, if Alan had a gun, or two, maybe he could go out in glory too.

-

He woke up lying on his front, on a soft leather surface. He had drooled - or was it vomit? - and he couldn't open his eyes from the grime. He tried to move and yelled, because it felt like his back was laid bare - like every muscle was open to the biting, cold air.

But he had to see where he was, so Alan sat up somehow, tugging at his immobile leg, even as tears rolled down his face. The lights were dimmed around him. His brother was sitting beside his sofa, sunk in the rich dark carpet.

"Are you stupid?" Nick asked, or something-that-looked-like-Nick. "Get back down." 

"What." 

"You're home. Sin killed them all. She didn't invite me along, I will have to have words with her." 

"This isn't home," Alan said, and tried desperately to think through the haze of pain and exhaustion. His jailers had been stupid, too stupid to conjure a Nick lookalike, but maybe there was a new danger lurking, in this foreign, too-modern room. A chandelier swayed slightly above his head and he felt a wave of nausea.

"It is home now. Your accounts are empty, by the way. I met a nice real estate agent while you were away."

"Sin?"

"She's yelling at her pet sorcerers. She'll be back with medicine. You need to sleep."

Alan didn't know if it was a lie, but it sounded nice. Nick looked alert and calm, which was, at least, a comfort. Alan put a hand on his shoulder and feel asleep before he could think.

When he woke again, his head was in someone's lap.

"Hey," said Cynthia. "I need you awake for this part." 

"At your service," he said, his tongue thick and lips parched. He tried to turn to his side, but his back was a taut block of pain. "If you are who you say you are." 

"The password is Bambi," she whispered, bending over him, and she smelled like Cynthia (not like Sin), and Alan could no longer care. If it was a trick, he would be its willing victim, and may everyone forgive him.

"Hi," he said. 

"Hi." 

"I heard you killed a lot of people for me. Very chivalrous." 

"I'm going to kill many more," she said. "But I need you to focus on me now. Peter here is going to fix your back, and it's going to hurt horribly. Tell him, Peter." 

"Anaesthetic spells would counter the efficiency, and we're out of time - the damage is too deep and the infection too far spread. Also, anaesthetics generally can cause heart failure, and my spells say you were too near that as it was." 

"So, it's going to hurt like hell," Cynthia repeated.

"Like fucking hell is the medical term," said Peter.

Alan swallowed - he had been drooling into Sin's lap, how mortifying was that? "All right," he said. "Could you wait outside, Cynthia?"

"Nope. I'll be here and hold you down, make it easier for Peter."

"It's not like I can resist much," he said through gritted teeth, gesturing at the leg he couldn't move.

"I'm not going to leave, Alan."

"You've already seen me tied to a post naked. There was piss and shit and I was probably crying. Can't you leave me with any dignity?"

"Dignity," Cynthia snarled. "You fucking idiot, you think I care about dignity? You could have died, they could have tortured you to death, and you think there's anything that can lessen you in my eyes? I know you did it for the kids." 

"You are also actively dying now," Peter said steadily. "I mean, I am going to have to do this tonight or your kidneys will permanently fail and then it's a jolly life of dialysis for you, unless of course your lungs give out, which is looking likelier by the minute."

"Please," Cynthia said. "Let me hold you."

And, no, Alan couldn't refuse her. He closed his eyes and bit into his lips, and let himself still into her strong hug.

Peter's magic felt like warm, stinging liquid. He began from Alan's shoulders, and it was bearable, but when he reached the first lash-mark, Alan bit right through his upper lip and still felt a few tears escape his eyes.

"None of that," Cynthia said. "I sent Nick out with the warlocks to track down and exterminate anyone who condoned this. Jamie and Mae have the children. We're alone here, you don't have to - you can yell, or whatever you need."

"This bit is going to hurt," Peter warned, and Alan convulsed and yelled as a rib settled into place. He began sobbing and Cynthia caressed his hair and spoke quiet nonsense into his ear.

It was longer than he could imagine. Something kept him from fainting, but he jerked and wept and threw up over the edge of the couch twice. The last lash mark ended at the back of his right knee, and Peter's magic ended there, neatly.

"Piece of cake," he said. He sounded exhausted. "I need an aspirin now. I'll come back in a few days - when I can - to see if I can do anything about his leg."

"We don't care about the leg right now,” Cynthia said. "Will he live?"

"He'll live. The pain should decrease - tomorrow, or, well, soon enough. Maybe Alan should take an aspirin too." 

"Thank you," Cynthia said. "Your debt is paid."

"Tell that to Crawford. Seriously, tell him."

Alan was beyond coherent speech - he waved a hand vaguely but was unwilling to remove his face from Cynthia's lap. He had come apart for her, and he was going to damn well indulge in the feeling, at least tonight.

Alan heard Peter leave, Cynthia exhale. She could come apart too, now.

"I'm going to lie down beside you," she said. "Okay?"

"Mm."

There was pain to bear still, but Alan couldn't care anymore. All that mattered was her warmth and softness. He put an arm over her, and fell asleep to the soft sound of her sobbing.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'ed by the gracious **jessalae**.


End file.
